Death and Life
by echoes mourn
Summary: Doctors see death every day. But they don't see Death every day. Cameroncentric crossover with the Sandman universe. Just a little HouseCameron


Doctors see death every day. But they don't see Death every day. Cameron-centric crossover with the DC/Vertigo Sandman universe.

Disclaimer: Fox, David Shore, and possibly some other people I don't know about own House and all its accoutrements. DC/Vertigo, Neil Gaiman, and possibly still more other people I don't know about own the Sandman universe and all its denizens. The following tale is just a little dream of mine.

References: _Acceptance_

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"Maybe she really was death. I mean, it would be really nice if death was somebody, and not just nothing, or pain, or sadness… Somebody funny, and friendly, and nice. And maybe just a tiny bit crazy."

Sexton Furnival, from _Death: The High Cost of Living_

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Somehow, when Cindy finally died, Allison Cameron almost missed it. Not because she wasn't there next to Cindy's bed, but simply because the end, when it came, was surprisingly quiet. Thanks to such modern advances as respirators and morphine, it was now possible to die from lung cancer almost completely silently, rather than gasping and coughing horribly, straining for one's last breath.

Contrary to what House might think, she hadn't been camped next to Cindy's bed. Everyone had actually thought she'd have at least a few more days before the end, so Cameron didn't expect this visit to be the last. But it was, and she found herself surprised that she could still be so stunned, when she'd known for months what was coming. Had she felt this blindsided when her husband had died? Yes, and no. _Every death is different, just like every time you fall in love is different._

The comparison snapped her out of her reverie, at least enough to realize that she had to move, had to tell the hospice personnel what had happened and make way for them to do their jobs. She also realized, with a sharp little stab of surprise, that she was not alone in the room.

A young woman had entered quietly at some point, and was now standing just inside the doorway looking at the two women – or rather, one woman and a corpse. Her gaze rested almost lovingly on Cindy, taking in the pale, thin face. For weeks, that face had been constantly lined with fear and shock and stress, lines that not even morphine could smooth. Now, at last, Cindy again looked like the young woman she had been.

Cameron couldn't speak for a moment. "Who are you?" she asked, though she felt like she should already know that. She must have seen her here on one of her other visits; she looked so familiar…

And perhaps the new arrival also felt that Cameron should have known the answer, for she didn't respond to the question. "She was very glad you were here, you know," she said quietly, with the hint of a smile.

"What if she didn't know I was here?" Cameron felt as though she was speaking from a great distance. "Just now. I told her I would be with her at the end." She looked over at the woman, not quite seeing her. If she'd been asked to describe her, she wasn't sure she could. She looked at least a few years younger than Cameron, yet she felt like a child in her presence, not a physician.

"People always know who's with them at the end. Even if they're not actually there." She smiled, an impish grin that was still somehow sad. "She was very glad you were here," she said again, and this time the words seemed to take on some strange but overwhelming significance.

Cameron actually felt dizzy for a moment. The young woman frowned slightly, seeing her sway. "You'll be all right in a bit," she said. "I can't stay long. Cindy asked me to tell you how much your friendship meant to her, so here I am." She looked at Cameron searchingly, and not even the sharp, alert blue eyes of House could see as much as this woman's black eyes. If House could read every emotion on her face, then this woman was reading her every thought, every memory. Then she spoke, very quietly, but each word etched itself into Cameron's mind.

"When anyone dies, there's always an impact on the world. Someone always notices. Someone's always upset." She smiled again, and that smile was all Cameron could see, a smile that soothed and made you want to smile. "And someone always notices what you lose, and what you gain, when you watch someone into death. That's another reason I'm here."

One pale hand reached out and touched Cameron gently on the forehead. "Things balance. You'll be fine."

And then she was gone, and Cameron was again alone, with only Cindy's small, cooling body for company.

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It was mid-morning at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, and a young, dark-haired woman was just leaving the building. After getting in early, even by her standards, and getting a great deal of work done, Dr. Allison Cameron felt that she deserved a treat. She turned her steps towards the coffee shop just down the street, intending to buy her favorite iced espresso drink for herself, and perhaps some pastries to share with her coworkers.

It was a beautiful day, just a hint of fall in the air, and she was enjoying the walk. That was one reason why it came as such a surprise to her when she discovered that she was actually lying on the street.

Her pocketbook was lying next to her, just within reach of her hand, but somehow her fingers wouldn't cooperate, wouldn't close on the bag and pull it closer. Someone was saying something she couldn't make out. Then someone farther away started speaking, much more loudly and angrily. She tried and tried to make out the words, with no success.

Suddenly she thought of Cindy. It had been months since she'd died – hadn't it? She wasn't sure, but she thought so. Yet something was reminding her of her friend.

Then she saw that sweet smile again, and memory came flooding back. How could she have forgotten that smile, even for a moment? There was the same sweet voice murmuring to her, and the same feeling of calm and peace. _Am I--?_

The smile broadened. "No, not yet, Allison. Not yet. But there's someone here for you anyway."

The smile was gone, and Cameron sighed, feeling dizzy and lost. The second voice spoke again, saying her name. It took a remarkable amount of effort, but she opened her eyes. The sun that she had enjoyed so much now seemed to stab into her skull, and she tried to raise a hand to shield her eyes. Annoyingly, her hand was still not cooperating the way she'd like, but it did at least move.

Then she saw who was speaking, and a faint smile spread across her face. "It's you," she said foolishly.

As stunned and pathetic as she felt right now, she could still sense House's relief. If she was conscious and speaking, even if she was saying silly things, there couldn't be too much wrong with her. "Of course it's me. That's the way it is around this place. People get hurt and sick, and I'm always the one who has to fix everything. Though I'm sure that if the reincarnation of Dale Earnhart, here, knew how much I hate interviewing, he would've looked before he made that screaming left turn."

There was a noise of anguished protest at this from behind House, which he ignored. Cameron scarcely heard it in the first place; she simply laid still and watched House work, his long fingers checking her vitals and looking for broken bones. Her head ached fiercely, but nothing else hurt alarmingly, though she knew better than to try to get up just yet.

"Possibly a slight concussion. Not a very interesting diagnosis," he said disapprovingly. "Feel all right otherwise?"

"Yes, I think so. I'm glad it was you." She began moving slowly, checking for sprains or bad bruises.

House gave her a look of mock surprise. "You were expecting someone else?"

Cameron smiled up at him, a sweet smile that was full of life. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."


End file.
